


Evenings on the Tardis

by Tardiscompanion



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clara can't sleep, F/M, Sharing a Bed, dw public call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8972467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tardiscompanion/pseuds/Tardiscompanion
Summary: Clara can't sleep.





	

When it came to maintaining systems the Doctor was an expert. Solar systems, star systems, TARDIS’ systems, but when it came to human systems even he would admit he was somewhat out of his depth.

“And that’s when I realized, “the Doctor continued, “there was a fly in the interspatial stabilizers.” He turned to look at his companion. “You look like the Fly,” Clara said stumbling slightly as the rooms in the TARDIS returned to their normal size. “That’s a cruel thing to say,” he said lifting up the round dark googles onto his head. “Why would you say – oh?”  
  
“Well, your eyes look like Saturn,” he observed. “Because they’re big?” asked Clara. “No, because they have circles.” He didn’t say it to be cruel, but Clara’s eyes narrowed dangerously anyway. “Doctor that is rud-.”  
  
“Hush,” he demanded taking in her appearance. She looked pale, her hair was messy, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she was hugging herself. Was she cold? He pulled out his sonic sunglasses and scanned her.  
  
“Really?” Clara rolled her eyes. “The glasses and the googles? Help meee, help meee.”  
  
“I said hush.” A list of hormone readings appeared before him. “Low dopamine, high cortisol, Clara your tired.” Clara said to the Doctor in that teacher-tone he didn’t particularly like, “Do you really need technology to tell you that?” She sounded disappointed.  
  
“Well your room is back to normal now,” he said is instead of an answer. “Go to sleep.” She shifted from side to side uncomfortably and said no.  
  
He refrained from scanning her again. He felt annoyed that she was making him guess at her feelings without the use of sonic technology, and then suddenly panicked at sight of tears rolling down her cheeks.  
  
“Oh no, no, no,” and without quite meaning to he was holding her as she sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I’m crying.” She was lying of course, and he could only guess why. Was it over the loss of PE? Was it because it had only been a day or so since Missy locked her in a Dalek? Was it too much for her? Would she leave him? “Prolonged exposure to Missy usually has that effect on most lifeforms,” the Doctor said gently relieved when he heard her muffled laugh. “I wailed in the shower all morning.”  
  
“Oh that’s what all that moaning was,” she joked but he didn’t quite get it until she followed with, “I thought you were doing something else.”  
  
He felt himself blush and held her at arm’s length. “Is that a sexual reference?” Her eyes were puffy but thankfully not leaking. “That was a sex reference wasn’t it?” He shook his head disapprovingly, “why is it always a sex thing with you humans?”  
  
The blush that crept into her cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by him. “It was joke Doctor.”  
“Go to bed Clara.”  
  
“No.” She was tired but fighting sleep like a child that’s just had a bad nightmare.  
  
“Do you want me to go to bed with you?”  
  
The thought had crossed Clara’s mind in his current body and the one before, but she was quite sure that’s not what the Doctor meant.

“Okay,” Clara agreed.  
  
"I’ll make us a room," the Doctor rearranged some wires and a burst of sparks flew. "Now, now don’t be like that." A smaller trail of sparks flared defiantly but the Doctor just smiled and patted the wires affectionately. Clara stayed out of the weird conversation the Doctor was having with his TARDIS.  
                                                                                                                            *** -***  
Clara stepped into the warm oxygenated air of a room that could have easily belonged in a five star resort. Thick foliage dominated the wide windows and a tropical breeze blew gauzy curtains across Mascara Ebony wood floors. The Doctor walked to the terrace, stretched and leaned over to smell a nearby flowering vine. “It’s beautiful,” Clara said, marveling at the fact they had just left the cool metallic halls of the ship and were now standing in a tropical oasis. The doctor shrugged, “Come here,” he said walking toward the bathroom.  
  
Under pain of torture the Doctor would have admitted the suite was beautiful and maybe a touch more romantic than he would have preferred. He didn’t flinch when Clara called the bathtub ‘psychic,’ as she ran her hand under the tap thermal sensors in the water adjusted to her skins preferred temperature.  
  
“The tap will probably add some sort of essential oil that makes you sleepy,” the Doctor said as the bath water filled up. Clara nodded and smelled one of the bottles on the side of the tub. “Oh passionfruit bubbles,” she said pouring the viscous liquid into the bath water. The Doctor left as little yellow bubbles started to form in Clara’s girly bath water.  
  
He grabbed a pair of blue sweat pants and a t-shirt from the dresser and headed to the opposite bathroom. He turned the shower tap on and hot water ran down his neck. No essential oils, no colorful soap. Outside of the window vines with tiny flowers curled around trees and little floaty insects danced around them. He poured shampoo into his hair and as he did he realized something about the décor was bothering him, something he had seen was off. Drying his head vigorously with a towel, he strolled from the en suite into the bedroom to look around. Greenery, gauzy curtains, and highly polished floors worked harmoniously together with the dark blue fabric on the chairs.  
  
Grabbing the remote control, he propped himself against the headboard and hit the power button. His eyes almost popped out of his head in shock. A provocative picture that fit seamlessly together pulled apart to reveal a hidden television.He pushed the off button so the picture became whole again. The picture was a silhouette of a woman with her hair in a 1940’s Earth style. She was wearing high heels and leaning over a stove to taste whatever concoction was brewing in the pot. The sway of her back and the way she leaned in to taste whatever was in the spoon was more than suggestive.  
  
“Oh very good Doctor,” he muttered sarcastically to himself. “Very observant.”

But wait, Clara hadn’t said anything about the painting, and knowing her she would have, which meant his ship hadn’t placed it there until after he escorted Clara to the bathtub. He wondered what the hell the TARDIS was playing at, or If she was gently teasing him or mocking him.

“What’s wrong?” Clara’s voice came from the bathroom doorway. He hit the power button so hard he almost dropped the remote.  
  
“Nothing is wrong with me.” He said feeling a profound sense of relief as the painting slid into the wall without Clara’s notice.  
  
“Your making attack eyebrows at the T.V.” she stated.  
  
He laughed and turned his attention to her. The bath had done her good. There was less tension around her eyes and her posture was more relaxed. She was wearing yellow cotton pajama bottoms and a white soft tank top.  
  
“Over a million channels and not one documentary on the migration of Star Whales,” he scowled.  
  
Her eyes mischievously lit up and his little control freak stole the remote from his hands. “Over a million channels,” she repeated. "You sure do know how to get a girl into bed Doctor." She made herself comfortable in the spot he’d just been in. He found it to be cute like when a puppy takes the spot on the bed. “You’re a human from the twenty-first century,” he said getting in on the opposite side. Falling asleep in front of a T.V. is what you do!"  
  
Clara let that remark go. She was too engrossed in working the remote control that gave options in centuries and not time slots, 21st century, 22nd century…. “What’s wrong with Neptune Ice Truckers,” the Doctor complained.”

“No.” Clara answered simply. This had been going on for the last thirty minutes and they still couldn’t agree on a channel.  
  
How about The Real Housewives of Epsilon Eridani? The Doctor glared and held out his hand. “Give it here,” he said. “Clearly you’re too tired to think straight.”

“Fine.” Clara flopped back against the pillows. “My thumb is starting to hurt anyway.” The Doctor started flipping through the channels faster than she could read the description titles and she closed her eyes.

“No documentaries.”

“Yes boss.”  
  
When Clara’s eyes opened again the Doctor was snoring softly and an infomercial selling cookware was on. The light from the T.V caught in his hair giving him a fluffy white halo that she wanted to run her fingers through. Instead, she reached cautiously and removed the remote from his hand. As she turned off the power the television retreated into the wall and a painting started forming in its place.

Clara stared in disbelief. Greenery, gauzy curtains, and highly polished floors worked harmoniously together with the dark blue fabric on the chairs. Why the hell did the TARDIS put a painting of Dogs Playing Poker in the room? She fell back into bed with an amused smile on her face and drifted back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> “And remember that a soufflé will wait for you. You can get it ready two hours ahead, hold it, bake it about 40 minutes before you serve it. The important thing is how to time it so neither one of you collapse!”  
> – Julia Child


End file.
